Merely the Shadow
by Jaelle17
Summary: McCoy is haunted in dreams by gruesome images of his daughter. But there is more to his nightmares than he imagined. PG13 for language. COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

_Leonard H. McCoy glanced up at the strange lavender sky, his eyes instinctively squinting in the bright light of the foreign sun. He turned around slowly, surveying a dry, brittle landscape he had never seen before. It shimmered in the heat, reminding him of the old American southwest in midsummer._

Where the hell am I?_ he wondered._

_Even more disturbing than not knowing the_ where _of his location was not knowing the _how _of it. He had absolutely no memory of coming to this planet, wherever this planet was. In fact, the last thing he remembered was-- _

_He frowned in deep thought, unable to remember what he had been doing prior to his arrival on this desolate world._

_"Damn transporter," he muttered. "Scatter people's molecules all over creation--I'm surprised I'm not missing a limb instead of just a few memories." He reached for his communicator. _Jim's gonna owe me for this one,_ he thought, pulling it off his belt. He was about to flip it open and call the ship to give them a piece of his mind_ _(_"what little is left of it,"_ he grumbled), when a plaintive voice from behind froze him in mid-motion. _

_"Daddy." It was the sound of a little girl in distress._

_He hadn't heard that voice in years, and, in spite of the heat, it sent a chill up his spine. He turned slowly. It was impossible, he reasoned, that this could be happening. His daughter was a grown woman, and lived far from wherever this strange place was. He was hallucinating, he decided, either due to the transporter malfunction, the heat, or a combination of the two. He confirmed his diagnosis when, upon turning around, there was no owner to the voice he had heard._

_"When I get back to the ship, I am going to personally dismantle that damn machine myself," he said, turning his attention back to the communicator in his hand._

_"Daddy, help me."_

_McCoy's head snapped up at the sound of his daughter's voice. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her step from behind a dry, withered bush. A part of his mind noted that she had _not_ been there a moment before, but that scientific fact was completely ignored as he stared at the sight of his little girl. It _was_ her, he told himself, but something had happened to her, something terrible._

_Most of her face had been eaten away by disease. Only one hand still had all five fingers, and her legs ended in stumps, not feet. Her shining chestnut locks that once reached down her back were reduced to a few straggly hairs. And her eyes-- _

_Even though they were bleak and unanimated, they were still the same blue eyes that he loved more than anything in the world. As he stared at her, he saw them fill with tears._

_"Daddy, please--"_

_The world around him began to fade away to darkness. He wanted to help her. He wanted to take her in his arms and bring her back to the ship and heal her. But he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. With every tear that dropped to the barren earth, he felt his heart break. He wanted to go to her, but he_ physically couldn't move_. He tried, straining to make his muscles work, but to no avail. He was losing her. The darkness was winning, and he was losing her._

_"Daddy, don't go!" _

_The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was the image of his little girl, holding her diseased arms out to him, crying for him. . . ._

McCoy bolted upright in bed, drawing in a deep, ragged breath. He broke into a cold sweat and began to shake. The dream was so _real_, he could still hear her small voice calling to him.

_Joanna__._ Her image burned his mind with guilt. Even in a dream, how could he have abandoned her? He started to sob, his tears mingling with hers in his mind until he fell back into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the review(s)! I appreciate them.

Disclaimer: The Great Bird of the Galaxy owns everything.

Kirk leaned back in his chair with a smug little smile, staring down his opponent with the outward appearance of a man in possession of perfect confidence in his own abilities. Inwardly, however, he was in turmoil, having just made a glaring, potentially fatal, error in strategy. All he could do now was hope that his opponent wouldn't notice--and take advantage of--his gaffe.

The doors to the rec room swished open at that moment, allowing Christine Chapel to enter. Even though Kirk's attention was focused on the situation in front of him, there was still a part of his mind that was perfectly aware of what was going on around him, from the poker game across the room (which Ensign Daniels was winning, and Kirk had to wonder if any of them knew she kept an ace up her sleeve) to Lt. Uhura's graceful melodies behind him. While his opponent considered his next move, that same part of his mind brought to his attention the fact that Christine was supposed to be on duty in Sickbay. Only a medical problem would draw her away from her post, but Kirk was not alarmed. He trusted his people enough to let them do their jobs.

He turned his thoughts back to his own dilemma, and held his breath as his adversary picked up a bishop and paused for an eloquent moment, before setting it back down in the space where Kirk's knight had just been.

"Check," Spock said.

"Damn," Kirk breathed, the confident façade falling away. Spock only raised an eyebrow, silently expressing his belief that Kirk should have known his first officer better than to have thought that Spock would not have taken note of his captain's blatant mistake.

A shadow fell over the two officers and their game, and Kirk looked up to see Christine standing in front of them, close enough to get their attention, but not close enough to intrude on their privacy. He smiled up at her.

"Ah, Miss Chapel! Perfect timing!" He flashed a quick, sidelong glance across the table, and his tone took on a touch of wry humor. "Isn't Spock due for a physical right about . . .." He trailed off as he noticed her somber demeanor. "What's wrong?"

"It's Dr. McCoy--" she began.

Kirk felt a fear grip his middle and he immediately rose, his game forgotten. He looked over to find that Spock had done the same. He was about to dash down to Sickbay, but Christine held up a hand to forestall them.

"He's not in any danger . . . yet," she added dubiously.

"What do you mean, 'yet'?" Kirk asked.

"Have you seen him recently?" she asked instead of answering.

Kirk shook his head. "We've been so busy with that ion storm that I haven't been down to Sickbay in a couple days." He glanced over to his first officer.

"Nor have I," Spock replied. "What is the trouble, Miss Chapel?"

Christine's tone clearly bespoke her frustration. "I don't know exactly. He won't talk to me, and he's been very irritable for the past two days."

Kirk felt the tension in his muscles relax the tiniest bit, and he hazarded a smile. "That doesn't sound so unusual."

"Indeed," Spock said blandly.

"That's not all," Christine said, her voice instinctively lowering. "A few moments ago, Ensign Galven came in with a sprained ankle. Dr. McCoy was about to give him a hypo of cordrazine. If I hadn't been passing by and noticed--" She paused, clearly uncomfortable with what she was about to say. "Galven would be dead, Captain."

Kirk smile faded and a sinking feeling came over him. He looked to Spock. "It's not like Bones to make that kind of mistake," Kirk said quietly. Spock didn't reply, but his expression, as disturbed as Kirk had ever seen it, spoke volumes.

"He practically threw me out of his office a few moments ago," Christine told them. "I don't want to start a panic, but I thought you should know. Maybe you can find out what's wrong."

"Thank you, Miss Chapel. You did the right thing," Kirk replied. He stepped away from the table, and he and Spock briskly strode out of the rec room without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews!! I'm glad you like it!  
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McCoy sank into the chair behind his desk and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying his best to calm his shattered nerves. His near-fatal blunder had left him trembling and cold, and he had reacted by taking out his frustrations on the closest available person--his head nurse. Never in his career had he spoken to one of his assistants the way he had spoken to Christine. If it hadn't been for her, he would have killed his patient. Just the thought of what might have happened made him sick to his stomach. He buried his face in his hands with a strangled sob. What he wouldn't give for a decent night's sleep.

_Physician, heal thyself_, he thought desperately.

If only he could. He raised his head and stared at the old-fashioned, two-dimensional photograph that he'd had taken of himself and Joanna on her sixth birthday. It was encased in a frame that Joanna had made for him later that year in school. He reached across the desk and pulled it closer, staring through it to a time when it was real--when _she_ was real, and whole, and not the horror that she had become in his dreams . . . dreams which had only grown worse every night. Now, every time he closed his eyes, the memory of her was there, crying out to him for help. It was more than he could bear, and if it didn't stop soon, he felt certain he would lose his mind.

A noise at the other side of the room interrupted his thoughts, and he raised weary eyes to see Kirk and Spock standing there. They paused for a moment in the doorway, and McCoy could see concern etched in Jim's face, and quiet apprehension behind Spock's dark eyes.

"Bones, you look like hell."

"It's nice to see you, too, Jim," McCoy drawled sarcastically. "Is this a social call, or did you just come down to practice your bedside manner?"

Kirk ignored his comment and stepped forward to stand in front of his desk. "What's going on? Chapel just came down to the rec room and told us what happened to Ensign Galven."

McCoy let out a slow breath at Kirk's abrupt announcement. He couldn't blame Christine. She had every right, every obligation, in fact, to go to the captain after what had happened, but he wasn't prepared to answer Kirk's question. How could he begin to explain? The dreams were becoming so tangible that he was losing his grip on reality, and he was afraid that even Jim wouldn't understand.

"It's . . . personal," he replied slowly. "Request permission to be relieved of duty." He had plenty of leave time accumulated. Perhaps if he could just get back to Starfleet Medical, he could find--

"Permission denied," Kirk returned, his harsh tone suspending McCoy's train of thought. "And when the life of one of my crewmembers is put in danger, it no longer stays pers--" He abruptly cut off his reprimand as his eye caught the photograph that McCoy held in his hand, and his voice held a hint of the dreadful horror he suddenly felt. "Bones, has something happened to Joanna?"

McCoy bowed his head and stared blankly at the picture. "I haven't slept in three days," he confessed. "I'm not fit for duty."

Fearing the worst, he and Spock sat down.

"What happened?" Kirk asked.

"The dreams," McCoy replied. "She's dying, and I can't save her." He closed his eyes, the most recent dream coming back to his memory with an intensity that took his breath away.

_"Daddy, help me."_

_ He turned to find her standing before him. All of her hair was gone, and the disease was beginning to eat away at the fingers on her whole hand. And her eyes . . . they had lost their brightness, even when wet with tears._

_ He found that he could move now, and he reached down and picked her up, holding her close. He wanted to save her, but he couldn't, and every plea, every cry felt like a dagger to his heart. She was dying in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it._

He raised his head and looked at them through bloodshot eyes. "I've tried everything to make them stop, but nothing works. Every time I try to sleep, she is there." His fist clenched in impotent anger. "My little girl is dying, and I'm powerless to save her."

"But, Bones," Kirk said softly, "it's only a dream."

"It's _real_, dammit," McCoy snapped. "It's real at the time. I can see her, and hear her, and pick her up--"

Spock frowned. "How old is your daughter in this dream?"

"Six," he whispered. He had helped bring her into the world and were he deaf, dumb, and blind--or asleep--he would know her better than anyone else.

"Bones--"

"Illogical."

McCoy glared at Spock, coming suddenly to life. "Now you listen here, you green-blooded--"

"Your daughter is a grown woman engaged in medical research on Regulus III," Spock said, interrupting him. "You received a transmission from her last week; therefore, it is not logical for you to believe that the dream is anything other than a dream."

"Bones," Kirk added, "you _know_ what sleep deprivation does to a person."

"You don't understand," McCoy said wearily. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Images of his daughter flashed across his mind, those perfect moments in time that only a parent can appreciate--her smile as she turned and waved goodbye on her first day of school . . . her laughter as he burned the fish on their camping trip to Yosemite . . . her tears that stained his collar when he left her for Starfleet--all marred now by the disease that threatened to consume her life and take his mind with it. Those new images conflicted with the old in a passionate war that left him with a slow, but steadily-growing inability to distinguish between his real memories and those terrors of the night.

"Describe the dream, Bones. Help us to understand."

Kirk's voice pulled McCoy back from his private little hell, and the doctor stared at his friend, searching his face for any pretense of concern. Finding none, he glanced down, and in hushed, broken tones, told them the details of his nightly torments. When he was done he looked up at his friends with a trace of apprehension, uncertain of what he would find. He already suspected himself of going slowly insane, but he didn't exactly relish the idea of seeing his private doubts of his own sanity reflected in the faces of those he trusted most. Jim looked worried, but that was to be expected. Spock, on the other hand, was impassive, deep in thought, staring at his steepled fingers. He was the first to stir.

"Curious," he said.

McCoy opened his mouth to deliver a decidedly unfriendly reply, but Kirk cut him off.

"Why 'curious', Spock?"

Spock shifted in his chair and folded his hands together. "I had a similar dream four nights ago."

"Explain," Kirk said.

"Every detail was exactly as Dr. McCoy described, except I did not see Joanna," Spock replied. "I saw my mother."

There was a pause, and McCoy swallowed the caustic remark he had intended to make.

Kirk stared at his first officer. "Coincidence, Spock?"

Spock shook his head. "Unlikely, Captain. While I was dreaming, I thought I sensed the presence of an alien intelligence. Once I terminated the dream, however, I sensed nothing, so I attributed the perception to the dream itself."

McCoy latched onto the latter part of his statement, and gaped at him, the agony of the past three nights etched deeply in his face. "How did you 'terminate' your dream?"

"My mental abilities far outstrip yours, Doctor," Spock replied, his words unaccompanied by his usual patronizing tone.

McCoy only nodded somberly. "Of course," he said, almost to himself, and then collected himself determinedly. "Now what?"

"If there _is_ an alien intelligence invading your mind," Kirk replied, "we need to find out."

"And just how the hell are we supposed to do _that_?" McCoy asked irritably, relief adding a sharp edge to his tone. Perhaps he wasn't losing his mind after all.

"I suggest running a thorough shipwide scan," Spock said.

"I concur," Kirk replied.

"And if that turns up nothing?" McCoy replied.

"In that case," Spock said, shifting once more in his chair, "I will need to perform a mind meld and experience the dream with you."

His casual pronouncement of something so deeply personal to him stunned both McCoy and Kirk into momentary silence.

Finally Kirk cleared his throat. "Start the scan, Spock. Bones, I'm relieving you of duty until we figure this mess out." McCoy started to protest as the three men rose from their chairs, but Kirk cut him off. "I need all my crewmembers intact, Bones," he told him. McCoy just stopped and stared, and for a minute, Kirk thought that he might have gone too far, too soon.

But the old, familiar glint returned to the doctor's eye, and he replied with a drawl, "In case you've forgotten, Jim, you're due for a physical in a couple weeks."

Kirk grinned. "Come on, Spock," he said, "I think that's our cue to leave."

"Indeed, Captain," Spock said, as they turned to leave.

"The same goes for you, Spock," McCoy bellowed to their retreating forms. He heard Jim mumble something indecipherable right before the doors closed behind them, and he felt the smallest of smiles trying to break free. He sat back down in his chair and took his first relaxing, deep breath in days.


	4. Chapter 4

Several hours later, the door buzzer to his quarters chimed. He had left Sickbay and come here, hoping to get a little rest, but he only found himself pacing and glancing at the chronometer on his desk every other minute. He had tried to read his latest medical journal to take his mind off of what was going on up on the Bridge, but that, too, had proved useless.

"Enter," he called.

The doors swished apart and Kirk and Spock came inside. McCoy could tell from Jim's face that they hadn't met with success.

His hopes fell. "Damn."

"I'm sorry, Bones," Kirk said. "If there's an alien onboard, the scanners didn't register it."

McCoy sank wearily into a chair. "You did your best, Jim."

There was a long moment of strained silence, which Spock finally broke. "Whenever you are ready, Doctor, we can begin."

McCoy had hoped--they _all_ had hoped--that it wouldn't have to come to this.

"Spock," McCoy began, "I'm--"

He suddenly stopped, and bit back the word "sorry," sensing that an apology would be more insulting to Spock right then than if he reached out and gave him a hug.

"I'm ready," he finished awkwardly. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," Spock replied. "Just sleep as you normally would."

"Hmph," McCoy grunted, rising from his chair and making his way over to the bed, "I haven't slept _normally_ in days." He noticed Kirk standing near his desk, looking as though he didn't know what to do with himself. "Jim, you don't have--"

"I'm staying," Kirk interrupted emphatically, and presently sat down in the chair McCoy had vacated.

"Thanks," he replied simply, and made himself comfortable on the bed, and closed his eyes. "Whenever you're ready, Spock."

"I will begin the meld once you are asleep," Spock replied, "to minimize the interference with your ability to achieve REM sleep."

_If that's what a mind meld does, I could have used one a few days ago, _McCoy thought, but he only nodded.

It was hard for him to fall asleep. He had been fighting it for days, not wanting to experience the dream again, not wanting to see his little girl dying in front of his eyes. But somehow, knowing that he wouldn't be facing his demons alone this time gave him a strange sort of peace, and he soon drifted off into darkness.

_He glanced up at the strange lavender sky, his eyes instinctively squinting in the bright light of the foreign sun. He turned around slowly, surveying a dry, brittle landscape he had never seen before._

Where the hell am I?_ he wondered._

_He was reaching for his communicator when a plaintive voice from behind him froze him in mid-motion. _

_"Daddy." It was the sound of a little girl in distress._

_And then he remembered. Joanna was dying, and he needed to save her. His eyes teared up at the sight of her. Most of her face, including one of her eyes, had been eaten away by disease. She had only one hand with fingers, and even then, it had only three. Her other appendages ended in stumps._

_"Daddy, help me," she said, holding her arms out to him._

_Without hesitation, he opened his arms to her, and was about to go to her, when he sensed another presence at his side. He turned his head. It was Spock._

_"Spock, thank God you're here," he said. "We have to get Joanna back up to the ship. Call Scotty and have him beam us up."_

_Spock didn't move, his attention focused solely on Joanna._

_"Spock!" McCoy snapped. "Are you deaf? What's wrong--" He stopped as he realized that neither Spock nor Joanna were paying any attention to him whatsoever. Instead, they were staring intently at each other._

_"I know you," Joanna said to Spock, her tone of voice suddenly very mature. "I tried to speak to you, but you would not listen to me."_

_McCoy's eyes widened at the sudden change in his daughter. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "Spock--"_

_"Who are you?" Spock asked, ignoring McCoy, and moving to within arms' reach of Joanna._

_"We are a people in trouble," she replied enigmatically._

_Spock reached out and touched the side of her head, his eyes closing in concentration. "My mind to yours," he said softly._

_McCoy could only look on, confused. He wanted to protest Spock's blatant invasion of his daughter's mind, but the world around him faded into darkness before he could say a word._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!!!

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McCoy sat across the conference room table from Spock, who would soon be presenting the findings of his mind meld to the rest of the senior officers. He was unusually quiet, lost in thought, oblivious to the animated discussions taking place around him. He had been relieved upon waking up to learn that he wasn't going insane, that there _was_ an alien intelligence that had been in his mind night after night. But it didn't matter. His new-found knowledge didn't change the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he could still see the image of his little girl, diseased and dying. He could still hear her cries for help as though she were standing right behind him. Even though it wasn't real, it was still _there_, and he wondered if he could ever rid himself of those memories.

"People," Kirk called over the chatter, "let's come to order." Once the small talk had died down, he continued. "There has been an alien presence on board the ship at various times over the past few days. They don't intend us harm, but they do need our help." He looked over to his right where his first officer sat. "Spock?"

Spock picked up the conversation. "They call themselves the Naidu. They live on the fourth planet orbiting Beta Eridani, a star .364 light years from our present position." He paused and steepled his fingers in front of himself. "The Naidu are a race of pure telepaths, and they are dying. Ten years ago, their astronomers detected several asteroids that were on a collision course with their planet. Not yet having achieved space flight, they began to prepare for the disaster by storing up supplies in their vast underground caverns. Unfortunately, they had miscalculated when the asteroids would arrive by more than a year, and most of the people perished." He shifted in his chair. "The only ones who survived were the ones working in the caverns when the asteriods hit, and even then, the Naidu had underestimated the effect the asteroids would have on the planet. Many of the caverns collapsed, either upon impact, or shortly thereafter, destroying all the supplies and killing any Naidu who were there. From the caverns that did not collapse, only about fifty Naidu remain, and they are trapped beneath the surface of their planet. Many are injured, and most of their supplies have been exhausted.

"The Naidu's telepathic powers are extremely strong," Spock said. "They are also able to meld their powers into a collective, and it was by this means that they sensed our presence, even at this great distance, and they have been attempting to contact us for help for several days now. Unfortunately, their telepathic brain waves correspond precisely with--but are limited to--human REM wavelengths, making it impossible for those contacted to distinguish between the alien contact and their own dreams." He looked over to Kirk, finished with his report.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, turning to his other officers. "We are going to help the Naidu. "I've already sent word to Starfleet. They've agreed to waive the Prime Directive in this case, since the Naidu already know of our existence. We have been authorized to rescue them and transport them to an uninhabited planet, the choice of which will be determined later. Any questions?" Hearing none, Kirk nodded his approval of their continued ability to adapt to new and strange situations with relative ease. "Very well, then, I'll take reports. Scotty, how are the engines?"

"Well, I dinna like the beating they took in that ion storm," he complained, "but I've managed to nurse the wee bairns back to health. We'll be ready for whatever comes along." His tone, however, indicated that he very much preferred that _nothing_ come along that might upset his "wee bairns."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Scott," Kirk replied, more to Scotty's tone than to his report. He moved on to Uhura. "Anything from Starfleet on what planet we're to take these people to?"

The dark-skinned communications officer shook her head. "Nothing, yet, sir. But when it does come in, I'll let you know immediately."

"Thank you, lieutenant," he replied. "Sulu?"

"All clear up ahead, Captain," Sulu replied with a grin. "The roadblocks are behind us."

"Good work, Mr. Sulu," Kirk said, returning the smile. He turned to McCoy. "Bones, will Sickbay be able to handle fifty injured Naidu?"

McCoy roused himself from the hold his thoughts had on him. "I'll make sure they're ready, Captain," he replied absently.

Kirk shot him a sidelong glace, but did not comment. "Very well, people, we have our work cut out for us. If there's nothing else, you're dismissed to your posts. Sulu, you have the bridge. Set a course for Beta Eridani IV. The coordinates--" he paused and looked at Spock, who only nodded-- "are in the computer."

"Aye, sir," Sulu replied, and followed the others out of the room, leaving only Kirk, Spock, and McCoy sitting around the table.

"Bones," Kirk began, once everyone had left, "are you all right?"

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix," McCoy replied with a sigh, and then eyed Spock. "I'm not going to be receiving callers after midnight anymore, am I?"

"The Naidu informed me that they would not contact you further," Spock replied. "They also wanted me to convey to you their deepest apologies for the distress they caused. They sensed the feelings you have for Joanna and used her image in her diseased form to get your attention, expecting you to respond to them. They mistook your REM sleep for telepathic activity, and when you didn't respond, they tried harder to get your attention, and ended up overwhelming your mind in the process."

"Well, that certainly explains things," McCoy said, "but I sure wish they would have picked someone else to overwhelm." He tilted his head and regarded Spock thoughtfully. "They weren't able to overwhelm _you_, Spock."

"No," Spock replied, "they weren't. The distance between us, together with their weakened state made it too difficult for them to try to overpower my mind."

"So they moved on to me," McCoy said. "Aren't I the lucky one."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You were their last hope of salvation, Doctor. They would not have had the mental strength to try again had contact not been achieved through you. The Naidu sensed in you your compassion for other beings, which is why they chose to contact you. They hold you in high esteem, which is quite an honor from what I gathered about their culture."

"Some honor," McCoy replied peevishly.

"Now, now, Bones," Kirk teased, trying to hide his own concern beneath a light tone, for Spock had all but admitted that emotion had prevailed over logic in this situation--yet McCoy hadn't taken the bait. One glance at Spock told Kirk that Spock had noticed this as well.

"They intend to build a monument to you on their new world," Spock continued, "and they want you to help lay the cornerstone."

"Hmph," McCoy said. "I'm a doctor, not an architect."

Kirk grinned and relaxed, knowing from McCoy's crotchety tone that his chief medical officer was secretly pleased in spite of his protest. "Come on, Bones. Let's go grab a cup of coffee before the fun begins."

The three officers stood and made their way across the room.

"So," McCoy said, "what's Starfleet going to do now that the Naidu know about us?"

"Commodore Mendez mentioned opening up diplomatic talks with them," Kirk replied.

"Of course, any discussions will have to take place in REM sleep," Spock said. "At least until they learn to read and write Federation Standard."

"Huh," McCoy remarked, as they made their way out of the conference room. "I know a few ambassadors that would be _perfect_ for the job."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews!!!

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McCoy lifted the decanter of Saurian brandy and refilled his glass, the trickling of the potent amber liquid breaking the otherwise perfect silence of the officer's lounge. A moment later, he rose, glass in hand, and moved over to the viewport, watching Epsilon Carinae VII turn slowly beneath the _Enterprise_, the blues and violets of its atmosphere creating a cool aura that starkly contrasted with the warmth of the brandy as it slid down his throat.

"I thought I might find you here."

McCoy turned at the sound of Kirk's voice to see him standing near the door, an empty glass in his hand.

"Mind if I join you?" Kirk asked.

"Be my guest," McCoy replied.

Kirk moved over to the table and picked up the bottle. He hesitated a beat before pulling out the stopper, noting the conspicuous decrease in the decanter's weight since that morning. He shot McCoy a significant glance as he poured the remains of the brandy into his glass.

"Don't start with me, Jim," McCoy said. "It's been a long week."

"I didn't say anything, Bones," Kirk replied.

McCoy pointed at him with his glass. "You were _thinking_ it," he accused.

Kirk didn't reply, knowing better than to argue with the doctor at that moment. As he set the empty bottle back on the table, he heard McCoy sigh.

"Where's Spock?"

"Meditating, I think," Kirk answered, pausing to swallow some of his brandy. "He's asked for the next few days off. I gave it to him."

"Well, if anyone deserves it, he does," McCoy said, for once refraining from his customary sarcasm. "This past week has been harder on him than anyone else." He shook his head at the memory. "Fifty injured Naidu, and the only way to communicate with them is through that damn REM sleep."

Spock had been the link between them and the Naidu. The only telepath among the crew, he had mind melded with every human "ambassador" who had volunteered to take a nap in order to facilitate communications with the Naidu. Not being the one asleep, he could come in and out of the meld quickly with vital information from the Naidu that McCoy had needed in order to treat them.

McCoy had learned a lot about these strange beings. They really were pure telepaths. They had no vocal cords or eardrums by which to speak or hear. And their insides--well, if Spock hadn't been linked with a Naidu physician who was coherent enough to observe McCoy and convey information to Spock through one of the ambassadors, McCoy would have lost half his patients. As it was, they had managed to save even the most seriously wounded of the Naidu.

Once the medical crisis was over, Spock had volunteered to be the direct link with the Naidu, communicating with them via his own REM sleep. Between his human REM patterns and his Vulcan mental controls, he had stated that he was the logical choice. No one could argue with him, but everyone was happy when the _Enterprise_ finally reached the new Naidu homeworld. They had just finished getting the Naidu settled on their new planet with enough supplies to last until the diplomatic envoy arrived. They would be warping out within the hour.

"I know," Kirk replied, joining the doctor next to the viewport. "But you haven't exactly had a vacation, either, Bones."

McCoy shrugged. "I was just doing my job," he said, but even to his own ears, the words rang hollow.

"Like hell you were," Kirk replied. "You worked like a man possessed."

"Maybe." McCoy stared into his glass. "I still see her dying. I thought if I could save them, I could save her from what they made her to be. I thought I could erase those memories." His voice took on a bitter tone. "It didn't work, so--" He held up his glass. "Cheers." He downed the rest of his brandy. If he couldn't work himself into exhaustion to keep the images away, then perhaps he could drink them away.

"Bones," Kirk spoke faintly, but the doctor didn't seem to hear him.

McCoy walked over to the table and set his glass down next to the empty bottle. "Good night, Jim," he said wearily. He was in no mood to dissect his mental state at that moment, not even with his best friend. He wanted only to seek the solace of his bed and hope for a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Bones," Kirk said with more intensity, but the doctor just ignored him and departed the lounge without another word.

Alone, Kirk could only gaze at the planet below. Never before had he seen his friend in such a state of despondency, and he feared that McCoy was slipping away from them, to a place where none of them could follow. Surely there must be _something_ he could do to help. And as though noticing the planet below for the first time, he felt an idea take shape. With resolute determination, he set his glass down and strode over to the communications panel on the wall and punched the button.

"Kirk to Spock."

There was a long moment of silence.

"_Spock here,_" came the calm reply.

"Spock, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem. Can you meet me in the transporter room in five minutes?"

There was only the briefest of pauses. "On my way, Captain."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Well, this is it! Final chapter. I had originally written this story for the _Strange New Worlds III_ contest, but I didn't win (obviously...lol), so I though I'd post it here. I also wrote a Voyager story for SNW (again, not a winner), which I might post here as well. The Original Series is my favorite Star Trek series, and Dr. McCoy is my favorite character, probably of all the series together, although Q comes in a close second (except for that last Voyager ep they put in him. That one just whomped, and should be about as canon as Star Trek V). I hope I did him justice.

Thanks for all the reviews!! I really do appreciate them!! And I'm enjoying reading the other stories here as well (when I have time, that is)!

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_McCoy glanced up at the deep blue sky, squinting in the bright light of the noonday sun._

Where the hell am I?_ He wondered. _

_ He found himself in a small clearing, surrounded by trees, and he could see the sun glittering off a lake through the tall pines, but he had no idea where or how he had arrived in this place. He felt a weight hanging from his right arm and he looked down to see that he was dressed in civilian clothing and was holding a frying pan. He turned slowly, finding a campsite set up behind him, complete with a crackling campfire._

_ "Daddy!"_

_ McCoy turned around in time to drop the frying pan and catch his daughter as she threw herself at him with a laugh. Her chestnut locks were pulled back in a ponytail and her blue eyes fairly sparkled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek._

_ McCoy's mind was in a whirl. His daughter was here, in his arms, whole and healthy. It didn't seem possible--it was _not_ possible, he reasoned. He didn't care to unravel the enigma, however. He just held her tightly, afraid to let her go, lest she vanish._

_ She finally pulled back and looked in his eyes. "Don't worry, Daddy," she whispered, smoothing his brow with her small fingers. "I'll make everything all better." And before he could even wonder what she was talking about, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead._

_ He felt a strange feeling wash over him, and sensed that there was something he was forgetting, something important. He struggled to bring back that missing part of himself, but it was no use._

_ "Daddy." Joanna's childish reproof brought him out of the depths of his thoughts. "Can we clean those fish now?"_

_ Suddenly, everything came back to him, and he felt like a fool for his lapse in memory. He must have been out in the sun too long because he couldn't even remember why he was holding Joanna, but he did know that he was on his annual camping trip with her, and they were about to cook their traditional fish dinner. He kissed her forehead in return, and set her down. _

_ "Are you hungry?" he asked, picking up the frying pan._

_ She took his free hand. "Starved! So try not to burn it this time, okay?"_

_ As the world faded into darkness, he laughed, feeling wonderfully alive and well. _

The darkness faded to reveal the surroundings of his quarters. Joanna and the campsite had disappeared, but he still felt wonderfully alive and well, and completely awake. He sat up and ordered the computer to raise the lights.

_Strange, that dream about Joanna_, he thought. It seemed so real, and he was perforce reminded of the recent dreams that Jim had described about his lost brother, Sam. Only those dreams hadn't been dreams at all, but telepathic contact from the Naidu. And from the way Jim had described it, they had been pure torture for him, seeing his brother dying like that. McCoy couldn't begin to imagine what that must have been like.

_Hell,_ he thought, _I can't even remember much of last week._ He must have worked himself into a such a state of exhaustion trying to save the Naidu that he'd developed a short-term amnesia. He'd seen such cases before, and the effects were usually temporary, so he didn't devote much energy to worrying about it. _Of course, that bottle of Saurian brandy probably didn't help the situation_, he mused. It _must_ have been a hard week. And had Jim been in the officer's lounge with him last night? He couldn't remember much of that incident, either, and he finally gave up trying.

He rose, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep out of his eyes, and made his way over to the computer station at his desk. The images of Joanna pleasantly clung in his mind, drawing a smile from the depths of his heart up to his face. _Still,_ he thought, _something seems missing . . . wrong, somehow._ He had the vague impression that she had been sick--very sick. He intellectually knew she was fine, given her recent transmission, but the uneasiness that impression caused would not let him rest until he had addressed it.

He sat down at his desk. "Computer," he said to the station.

"Working," replied the mechanical female voice.

"Begin recording personal transmission."

McCoy looked at the holo of Joanna that stood next to the computer station and smiled. "Joanna? It's Dad. I'm just checking up on you. Maybe it's a doctor's instinct, or a father's, but I just wanted to be sure you're okay. So humor your old man and let me hear from you soon. And Joanna--" He paused, the image of her bright eyes and laughing smile floating on his mind, "I love you."


End file.
